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Spoilers: Umm, let's see. Vague references to "Cathexis", "Unforgettable"
(though if you haven't seen these two don't worry, they're not worth
watching anyway), "Resolutions", "Year of Hell", "Infinite Regress" - a
whole bunch really. Oh, and of course "The Voyager Conspiracy".

Warning: Contains coarse language, sex between women, and sex between women
and holograms. If this offends you (holophobia?), is illegal where you live,
or you are under 18 years of age without access to a Borg maturation chamber
please do not read any further. There may also be some plot holes, but if
the real Voyager doesn't worry about that why should I? Starfleet Command
would like to caution you that use of a multi-spatial probe in the manner
depicted in this text is not recommended.

Disclaimer: No profit is intended in the writing of this story. Star Trek:
Voyager and all its' characters are the property of Paramount. Their
depiction here does not detract from the respect I feel for all of them.

Archiving and downloading: By all means, provided you credit the author.

Feedback to [email protected] Please keep any flames entertaining: e.g.
"You are f-ing horrible. May a beautiful Borg come to your room in the
middle of the night only to discuss the nature of individuality. May someone
you hate declare themselves the Son of K'vok and bite you!" etc.

Star Trek Voyager: The Voyorgy Conspiracy (F/F,M-holo/F)
by Odon

Seven of Nine was having a wonderful dream.

The crew of the USS Voyager had finally achieved true perfection. Led by
its' red-haired Borg Queen, the Starfleet vessel forged on an unstoppable
course toward the Alpha Quadrant. Subspace anomalies and ocean planets that
might distract them from their goal were blasted out of existence with
tricobalt devices. Crewman Neelix had been put to death and his corpse
displayed on the outer hull to deter similar friendly species from engaging
in irrelevant conversation. Naomi Wildman had been placed in a Borg
maturation chamber so she could soon take up the duties of bridge assistant.
Best of all, Lieutenant Torres was forced to demonstrate the efficiency of
the ship's weapon systems by acting as a target. Every day, under the firm
tutelage of her captain, Seven of Nine got to disintegrate the annoying
half-Klingon with the phaser banks, while Borg nanoprobes reconstructed her
every night. Compassion was irrelevant. In her sleep, the former drone
sighed with happiness.

Even while dreaming however, Seven was still at work. As sleep was an
inefficient waste of time, she had sought to increase her efficiency by
modifying her alcove to become a cortical processing subunit. This way Seven
could download several months worth of data collected by Voyager (everything
from away team reports to xenobiology studies) for analysis while she
regenerated.

It was in the midst of this analysis that Seven's interlink node received a
lengthy data transmission of unknown origin. The processing subunit studied
its' content. The data did not appear to be related to the information being
downloaded from Voyager's central core.

"I can't possibly have relations with a member of my crew it's too
COMPLICATED!"

The rose was crushed unnoticed in her hand and Seven felt her eyes swelling
with tears. She thought: This is the emotion of `sadness', this is the
feeling of `pain', this must be `unrequited love', this is ANGER and she
lashed out at the woman who meant more to her than anything in her
existence. "You tore me from the Collective! You forced me to exist as an
individual! You required me to develop my own feelings! Yet I am not ALLOWED
to act on them!"

Seven of Nine stirred restlessly in her alcove.

"You will comply," she commanded. Her enhanced strength easily forced the
young ensign onto his knees. Harry stifled a groan as his kneecaps struck
the deck hard. Placing his palms on the cold metal floor, he prostrated
himself before his beloved ice queen. Heart thumping with fear and
excitement, Ensign Kim extended a servile tongue and began to lick Seven of
Nine's boot. The beautiful Borg sneered in contempt at the pathetic human's
service to her. "Freedom is irrelevant," she said coldly, her thumb stroking
the manacles she held in her flesh and metal hand as . . .
her eyes snapped open . . .

"Seven, don't move!"

For the first time ever the ex-drone heard panic in her captain's voice.

"Clarify," she asked, her voice muffled. She did not see the point in
engaging in irrelevant conversation, especially now that she had discovered
a much better use for her tongue.

"I think one of my pubic hairs is caught in your ocular implant."

Seven raised an eyebrow, extracting a yelp from Janeway. "I have observed
from my study of Lieutenant Torres and Paris that pain and pleasure are not
mutually exclusive." She sat up abruptly, causing Janeway to howl in agony
and grab her crotch. "SEVEN!"

Seven ignored her complaints. As Janeway watched in astonishment the
statuesque Borg did a perfect somersault onto her hands, hooked her feet
into an overhead lighting fixture and tilted her head backward in an attempt
to lick Janeway's cunt.

"Seven, what the hell is THAT?"

"A sexual position assimilated from Species 7140, a quadrapedal
tree-dwelling life form with a hyper-elongated lingua. It is■somewhat
strenuous."

"I'm a Starfleet officer! I'm not fucking in that undignified posture! But
then again," Janeway added, her eyes gleaming wickedly. "We ARE explorers."
And with that her lingua began an detailed exploration of its' own.

Seven of Nine stepped out of the alcove, vaguely hearing the warning of an
incomplete regeneration cycle. Her organic components appeared to be
functioning erratically. The Borg's cortical processor noted unusual
symptoms. Heart rate and respiration had increased. Blood was being
redirected to other parts of her body, specifically the nipples and
clitoris. The region between her legs was wet with vaginal fluids, tingling
as if with an unreleased tension. If fact she felt an irrational urge to
touch herself there . . .

As if on its' own accord Seven's hand slid down between her legs. A sigh
escaped from her lips as she rubbed her palm hard against the crotch of her
biosuit. The relief her action created was most satisfactory. In fact, if
she continued to rub her hand back and forth in that area, it resulted in a
highly pleasurable sensation. The fact discomforted Seven. This activity was
clearly non-productive and time wasting, yet she could not bring herself to
stop.

Perhaps it did serve a function. The young woman found herself calming; the
early tension was gone, replaced by waves of pleasure matching her strokes.
In her research on human mating behaviour Seven had found numerous
references to this activity. It was called `masturbating'. She tried
accessing the data she had accumulated on the subject, only to have her
processor throw her newly assimilated knowledge back at her. It appeared
there were many references to this subject there.

She had been experiencing an inefficient obsession with the captain's hands.
Their shape and form; such things were surely irrelevant. How could a mere
physical attribute possibly be a reflection of the individual? Whether laid
calmly on the desk in her ready room, gesturing at the viewscreen, clutching
a container of the liquid stimulant she preferred . . . touching her
shoulder in Astrometrics - they seemed to express Captain Janeway so well;
the affection the former drone secretly craved, the natural command she
desperately wanted to serve. How could such an appendage, only one part of
the body's collective whole, be so powerful?

She was discovering their power now. The hidden excitement Seven felt when
the captain touched her in public was nothing compared to the emotions she
experienced as Janeway eased open the lips of her vagina.

An amused smile. "Relax Seven"

"I c-cannot comply, Captain."

"Kathryn, please."

"I cannot.." The captain silenced her with a kiss.

Light touches to begin, stroking the outside surfaces. Light like . . .
feathers. The word was pulled from her memory, as was the sensation ─
stroking a bird's feather as a child. But that was nothing like this.
Seven had worried that the captain might not prove an efficient lover. By
nature she was too impatient, instinctive; her years of self-denial perhaps
leading her to haste. But she caressed the petals of Seven's labia like an
artist stroking a delicate jewel . . .

She had discovered that sending vibrations through her hand's exoskeleton
was an efficient means of self-stimulation. It seemed to impair her motor
functions however as she was unable to continue standing. Seven fell
backwards against a cargo container. She spread her legs wide and pushed her
pelvis up against her palm, rubbing frantically. The cargo bay echoed with
her incoherent moans.

B'Elanna thrust her fingers roughly in and out of her cunt. "How do you like
that you Borg bitch!" she hissed. Her face was just inches from hers and to
Seven her dark pupils seemed to fill the entire world. Anger, hatred, lust,
love ─ she could not connect the descriptions she had studied in the
database to the emotions that were swirling through her now. It was all
happening too fast! She had a shameful urge to beg Lieutenant Torres to slow
down so she could gain control of these feelings. Seven bit her trembling
lip to steady it. She was Borg. She would . . . she must adapt!

She closed her eyes and felt her opponent pressing warm lips down on hers.
Seven responded with equal hunger, their tongues entwining with a mutual
lust they would never confess openly. She could taste her blood in the
Klingon's mouth . . .

The pleasure concentrated in Seven's groin suddenly swept through her,
assimilating her entire body in an irresistible onrush of sensation. In
seconds her newly cherished individuality was swept away before the torrent.
There was only feeling, rapture, total ecstasy. Resistance was not only
futile; she didn't even want to try it.

She regained consciousness, vaguely wondering why the opposite wall had an
overhead light strip on it.

`I am Seven of Nine. I am . . . on my back'.

The former drone calmly rose to her feet. Her lapse in efficiency had been
brief. Clearly there were problems involved in assimilating Voyager's
extensive data. Nevertheless there had been positive effects. She had
undoubtedly experienced her first `orgasm', another step in her ongoing
exploration of humanity. The captain would be pleased. She had also received
a much clearer idea of the complex inter-relationships of the crew.
Previously this was an understanding that had eluded her. She had even
identified a crucial fault in the ship's sensor grid. Efficiency demanded
that the latter problem be corrected immediately. She slapped her combadge.
"Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres."

No answer. "Lieutenant Torres, respond."

B'Elanna, interrupted in the middle of beating Tom Paris to another orgasm,
was not happy.

"Good morning, Seven. This better be important."

"I must speak with you at once."

* * *

B'Elanna stared at the moving light panels of the turbolift, refusing to
look at the blonde astrometrics officer standing next to her.

It wasn't easy being half Klingon.

B'Elanna had tried explaining that to various people: Tom, Captain Janeway,
the Doctor, the crewman whose nose she'd busted last week, but they didn't
exactly get the point. They saw B'Elanna's biggest problem as her temper,
but that wasn't it. The problem was sex.

Whenever B'Elanna got angry (which was often) she naturally wanted to commit
all kinds of mayhem ─ scratching, clawing, biting, throwing large heavy
objects at people. The only problem was that these had traditionally been
signs of Klingon sexual arousal. So whenever something happened to get her
really mad her hormones kicked into overdrive as well. Once, when she'd been
confined to quarters for striking Lieutenant Carey, she'd chucked something
at Chakotay the minute he walked through the door. Too late she'd remembered
that this was a Klingon flirting ritual. So later on when an alien had tried
taking over the ship by tapping into their fantasies who does she imagine
bonking? Chakotay! Not to mention how she'd ended up sharing her bed with
the guy who used to annoy her the most, Tom Paris.

And if there was one person on board Voyager who managed to aggravate
B'Elanna more than anyone else in the entire universe and all its' parallel
dimensions it was that cold, patronising, cybernetically-enhanced automaton
Seven of Nine. Every day the former drone would severely piss her off by
talking back to the captain or diverting power to Astrometrics or flaunting
those Borg-implanted breasts in Tom's face or addressing her in that
superior condescending tone until all B'Elanna could think was that if she
raises that fucking ocular implant at me one more time I'm going to rip it
off and shove it right up her arse! Then every night the engineer would be
tormented by wet dreams in which she would melt the Borg Ice Queen with hot
passionate sex.

Just yesterday Seven had done it again, tying up the main computer as part
of her latest attempt to achieve Perfect Arrogance and extending B'Elanna's
shift by an extra three hours as a result. That night the fiery engineer had
dreamed about stalking Seven of Nine through a maze of Jeffries tubes.
Cornered in an alcove the terrified Borg had promised never again to divert
processing power during a level four diagnostic as B'Elanna carefully sliced
off her tight-fitting uniform with a kut'luch blade. That was nowhere near
enough for the hot-headed Klingon. She had demanded compensation for all the
aggravation Seven had caused her over the past two years. The luscious young
blonde had been forced to give tribute in the form of her firm ripe breasts,
which she'd offered up to B'Elanna's greedy mouth. B'Elanna had woken up so
excited she'd virtually raped Tom before he was fully awake and just as they
were approaching a greatly needed climax SHE had to interrupt them!

This was shaping up to be another wonderful day.

There was a metallic whine and the turbolift shuddered. Beside her Seven
tensed. She knew what would happen next. The lift would grind to a halt and
be stuck between decks for hours. The environmental system would fail and
they would remove their clothes in the heat. The two women would be torn
between their mutual dislike and their increasing lust for each other's
naked perspiring bodies. Inevitably the aroused half-Klingon would force
herself on her, biting her face and licking the sweat off her cleavage with
her tongue until she . . .

"Are you all right Seven?"

Startled, Seven turned and stared at B'Elanna. "I . . . thought there was a
fault in the turbolift."

"It's only a graviton relay."

The turbolift came to a stop and the doors slid open. B'Elanna cast a wary
eye at Seven and stepped out onto the bridge. Ever since that time when the
beautiful astrometrics officer had tried to initiate a Klingon mating ritual
in the middle of engineering she'd kept a close eye on her. Seven was
supposedly suffering from some kind of Borg multiple personality syndrome at
the time, but you never knew . . .

Captain Janeway was on the bridge, piloting a coffee mug.

"Captain," Torres said, getting right to the point. "I need permission to
shut down the sensor grid. Seven thinks a . . . mating pair of ensigns have
disrupted the power flow." Her voice betrayed what she thought of that idea.

"A mating pair of ensigns?" The captain and Chakotay cast an incredulous eye
at each other. Ensign Paris looked bemused. Tuvok's ears perked up, though
that was nothing unusual.

"Lieutenant Torres is in error," Seven corrected. "It was in fact an ensign
and a lieutenant whose copulation has caused the malfunction. Ensign Paris
and Lieutenant Torres, to be precise."

There was dead silence on the bridge. Torres' face went dark. It was moments
like these, when Seven embarrassed the shit out of her in public, that her
Klingon half threatened to reassert itself with a vengeance. Right now for
instance she had this overwhelming urge to rip the Borg's heart out of its'
chest cavity and feast upon the raw flesh as part of her Day of Honour.
Desperately she tried reciting the Vulcan mantra Tuvok had taught her.

Janeway didn't know whether to giggle in a most uncaptain-like fashion or
obliterate Seven with her infamous Glare of Death. "And how did you arrive
at this . . . theory?"

"Eight weeks ago, Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Paris were copulating when
they should have been working on their duty shifts. In order to lower
herself onto Ensign Paris' penis Lieutenant Torres raised her body by
grabbing an overhead power relay conduit, causing a momentary interruption
in power flow and a stupendous orgasm for Ensign Paris."

"I remember that," said Paris, half to himself. "B'Elanna told me to stick
around to try something hot." He quailed as Janeway made up her mind
regarding what expression she should have. The Death Glare (it was a good
thing the captain hadn't found out about the time he and B'Elanna did it on
the desk in her ready room).

"The interruption caused a feedback loop which has resulted in the sensor
emitters losing their resolution," Seven concluded smugly.

"Bite me!" yelled B'Elanna.

Seven turned her deep blue eyes upon her. "Is that an insult or a marriage
proposal, Lieutenant Torres?"

Deep in B'Elanna's subconscious a long-buried race memory of Kahless roared
at her to sink a bat'leth through the impudent petaQ's skull. Her fingers
twitched with the urge to nail the arrogant bitch to the bulkhead with
titanium alloy rivets. Her cunt was wet with the desire to throw the
delicious blonde onto Tom's console, tear off her clothes and push her
sopping vagina down over those perfect lips . . . dammit stop thinking about
that! "How-How can you possibly know all this?" she managed to stammer.

"Last night, I downloaded six months of ship status reports into my new
cortical subunit while I was regenerating," the Borg replied.

"Learn while you sleep. Sounds interesting. Can I try it?" Tom asked,
imitating a kid's whine.

Seven gave him a superior look. "Your physiology is different from mine."

`No shit?' thought Tom, eyeing her formidable breasts.

"A logical, though highly speculative analysis," said Tuvok. Though given
the hormonally driven nature of the two officers concerned perhaps not that
speculative. He had once caught them engaged in an intimate coupling on top
of a console in Engineering. Unfortunately they had forgotten to switch the
console off first. The resulting series of instructions they inadvertently
entered had thrown the warp engines out of alignment for three months.

"I think I'll take a look at this power conduit myself," Janeway said
quietly, the air around her turning to ice which fell to the ground in thin
shards. "Lieutenant Torres, come with me. Seven■" She paused. It wouldn't do
to put these two in a cramped Jeffries tube together. If they came to blows
she wouldn't have room to dodge. "Wait here."

Seven waited until Lieutenant Torres and the captain had entered the
turbolift, then strode over to Chakotay. "Chuc─ . . . Commander. I wish to
speak to you in private."

The first officer looked at her in surprise, then grunted. "Sure. We can
talk in the conference room."

In the conference room Chakotay sat down in a chair and Seven, as usual,
stood in front of him with her hands behind her back. A sudden thought
occurred to her. She had previously dismissed considerations of her mode of
dress and the sexual nature of her body as irrelevant. Yet she now
understood that her rigid stance and the tight-fitting nature of her
`catsuit' (the word sprang into her mind from her newly assimilated data)
only served to emphasis her large breasts. In fact, the relative height
difference between her and Captain Janeway meant that for the past two years
she had been flaunting her tits in her captain's face!

"Are you all right Seven? Has Lieutenant Torres been bothering you again?"

Seven blinked, hauling herself back to the present. "I wish to ask you some
questions. Regarding the nature of humanity."

Chakotay was startled. Seven of Nine was the captain's pet project, but he'd
never approved of her presence on board Voyager and Seven knew it. They
really didn't have that much to say to each other. "Wouldn't you normally
discuss this with the captain?"

"It concerns the captain. I feel she might be reluctant to discuss this
issue with me."

"What issue?"

"The nature of your sexual relationship with her."

Chakotay stiffened in his chair so much he resembled a lump of wood (though
Seven didn't notice any difference). He did not like the way this
conversation was going at all, but Captain Janeway had given instructions
that the crew was to assist the former drone in her exploration of humanity.
And Seven had always found the area of sexuality difficult. Lieutenant
Chapman was still undergoing orthopedic therapy after his ill-fated date
with her.

"Well that's easy. There isn't one."

Seven raised her ocular implant. Chakotay raised his tattoo in reply.

"Explain."

Chakotay frowned, his hands twisting in his lap. This felt more like a
confession than a lesson in humanity. Still, it hadn't been the first time
he'd poured out his soul. Once he'd overdone it and his soul had become
completely detached from his body and gone floating around Voyager, taking
over various crewmembers. The Doctor had required numerous medical devices
and 50 gigaquads of memory to reintegrate the two.

"We were stranded on a planet once, the captain and I. We'd both caught this
alien virus and couldn't stay on Voyager. I thought that we'd be spending
the rest of our lives together. I did everything I could to romance her. I
built her a hot tub, massaged her shoulders, told her one of those `my
people have a story' fables about how I wanted to serve her as an animal
guide. Then, just as I was about to score, Tuvok hails us saying he'd come
up with a cure!"

He took a deep breath. "Ever since then we've teased, flirted, and violated
each other's personal space countless times. Yet nothing ever happens." The
anguished commander gestured wildly at the stars streaking past the windows.
"It's as if the mysterious Powers-That-Be that govern this universe have
decided we'll never consummate our love. Just endlessly suffer this constant
unrealised sexual tension."

"You are correct. I have reason to believe that Captain Janeway is the
victim of a conspiracy to deny her the fulfillment that comes from an
intimate relationship."

Chakotay stared at her, then suddenly realised what Seven must be getting
at. "Q!"

"Cube?" asked Seven, puzzled (her thinking could be a bit three-dimensional
at times).

"You wouldn't know him. I doubt the Borg have assimilated any members of the
Continuum." `Then again if they had it would explain where Seven got her
arrogance and lousy interpersonal skills'. "Q is an obnoxious■sorry■an
omnipotent being with a fetish for human starship captains of both sexes.
He's made moves on Captain Janeway before. He thinks his tattoo's bigger
than mine. Perhaps Q believes that by keeping the captain celibate Janeway
will end up so desperate she'll even screw him!"

Seven was unimpressed. "Perhaps. Another explanation, Chuckles, is that you
are too much of a `wiener' to make the first move."

Chakotay stood up, his face deadpan with rage. "You're out of line Seven!
It's the captains' decision not to pursue a relationship with any member of
her crew. It could have an adverse affect on discipline. It might also
affect her ability to make life and death decisions regarding that
crewmember. Now I may not like it, I may not agree with it, but she's the
captain and that's the end of the matter!" He was getting extremely pissed
off with this topic and the irritating Borg in general. Kathryn might see
her as some kind of surrogate daughter, but if that was the case it was
about time the captain gave her a damned good spanking! His groin tightened
at the thought of the beautiful Seven squirming over Janeway's knees, as the
captain applied the palm of her hand to that delectable ass.

Seven of Nine looked down at the growing bulge in Chakotay's groin. "You are
small," she said, her lip curling in contempt. "Weak. Insignificant. You
lack harmony, cohesion, greatness, balls. It will be your undoing. The
captain could not possibly achieve perfection with such an individual."

"Get out!" yelled the Commander, expressionless with fury. Captain Janeway
would no doubt have had a good speech to put the impudent Borg in her place,
but good lines seemed to elude him as much as Kathryn's love. No doubt the
mysterious Powers That Be were behind that too.

Seven raised her ocular implant in a superior manner (a characteristic
assimilated from Species 3259 - Vulcan), turned on a four-inch heel and
strode out the door.

"Well I'm not surprised she's never been able to `achieve perfection with an
individual'," Chakotay muttered to himself. "Who'd want a woman whose
implants are likely to assimilate them? And what about her relationship with
the Doctor? You'll never catch Captain Janeway having sex with a hologram!"

* * *

"Face it Harry, Class Two shuttles just don't cut it in the Delta Quadrant,"
said Paris, getting in the ensign's face as per normal. "B'Elanna and I have
been working on the design for months."

"A self-replicating shuttle?" Harry smirked. They were walking down the
corridor away from the shuttle bay, where Tom had been proudly showing off
his latest brainwave.

Tom was too enthusiastic to notice his skepticism. "A unique combination of
Borg and Starfleet technology," he said, waving an isolinear spanner for
emphasis. "When one shuttle crashes or is destroyed, a new one's created,
fully operational, in our shuttlebay by next week."

"With this technology the captain might even let Chakotay start flying
shuttles again," was Harry's dry response. They halted outside a turbolift.

Tom looked at his friend and grinned. Chakotay's crash record with the Class
Two was legendary, greater even than that of a certain conn officer. He
heard the turbolift doors hiss open, and his amusement turned to horror as
Harry suddenly turned bright red, his eyes bulged in their sockets and he
began to sway on his feet. "Harry, are you OK?"

"Is something the matter ensign?" came Seven of Nine's cool tones.

"It must be some kind of alien virus," he said, turning to look at her■and
freezing in his tracks.

Seven of Nine was standing naked in the turbolift, adorned only by her Borg
implants.

"The virus appears to be infectious," Seven remarked, as Tom went through
similar eye-popping, swaying, and blushing routines.

The two men stepped into the turbolift without a word. As he stared at her
body, Harry Kim's pupils dilated so much that Seven mentally scheduled an
immediate drug test for the young ensign.

Paris was the first one to regain the use of his vocal cords. "So■Seven. Is
your uniform being washed or something?"

"My biosuit was damaged while copulating. I am returning to Cargo Bay Two in
order to replicate a new one."

"Copulating?" groaned Harry, on the verge of dying for the umpteenth time
since arriving in the Delta Quadrant.

"Megan and Jennifer Delaney offered to help me explore my humanity. They
decided to use their fingers and tongues in the exploration rather than the
lateral sensor array. However they were unable to locate the fastenings on
my uniform and lost patience. Their decision to rip off my clothing with
their teeth was unusual, but■efficient."

Tom stood between Harry and Seven, staring at her body and clutching his
tool. He might need it to repair the environmental system; it seemed to be
awfully hot in here. His blood was pounding in his veins and he felt an
uncontrollable erection growing. Tom had always regarded Seven as highly
attractive, but the certain possibility of being fatally injured by his
girlfriend had stopped him from doing anything about it. But now he couldn't
help noticing that over that cold Borg heart lay a pair of large, warm
breasts. Paris stared in awe at her voluptuous body. Busty of Borg!

It was a relief when the door hissed open and Seven stepped out. Relief
turned to horror as the three of them found themselves face to face with
none other than Captain Kathryn Janeway herself. Shock at finding her
surrogate daughter stark naked in a turbolift with two male ensigns rapidly
changed to full-powered rage at the two men undoubtedly responsible for this
debauchery.

It was all too much for Kim. He fainted dead away.

* * *

It had been a busy day for Voyager's Emergency Medical Hologram. First of
all there was a shipwide outbreak of amnesia that he was tracking.
Apparently the entire crew had forgotten the existence of a crewmember named
`Kes' and never mentioned her in conversation.

"You know, I think I know what you mean Doctor," Commander Chakotay had
said. "The other day I was cleaning out my room and found this sheet of
paper. I'd written on it how I'd met this alien woman named Kellin and
fallen in love with her, yet I don't remember a thing about it!"

"I wouldn't worry Commander," the Doctor had replied. "If you don't remember
her, I'm sure the whole episode was pretty forgettable anyway."

Then Captain Janeway had arrived in a furious mood; hauling a naked Seven of
Nine by the ear and demanding that the Doctor run a complete diagnostic of
her cortical systems. Ensign Kim had turned up with a sore tongue that had
been caught in a closing turbolift door (and for some reason Seven had also
insisted on a drug test for Mr Kim). There were also numerous whiplash
injuries caused by Seven walking around in her birthday suit (he'd have to
make their next lesson "Appropriate Dress for Public Occasions"). Then, just
after he'd finished spray painting a new biosuit onto Seven, who should turn
up next but Ensign Paris (he loved emphasising the helmsman's reduced rank)
with numerous injuries he said had come from a Klingon martial arts program
on the holodeck.

"That might explain the bruises and restraint marks on your wrists," the
Doctor said, a snide look distorting his holographic features. "But it
doesn't explain these scratches on your back, the ones with Klingon-human
DNA in them. I thought BLT stood for `B'Elanna Torres', not `Bondage, Lust
and Torture'."

Paris laughed unconvincingly. "Come on Doc, I'm not into that sort of thing!
Besides, you know she hates exploring her Klingon side."

"Yes, but you don't," the Doctor snickered, the size of his smirk
threatening to overload his expressional subroutines. "Besides, all her base
instincts are straight from Kahless himself."

"You might want to keep that in mind," growled B'Elanna, striding into
sickbay. "When you've finished with Tom, I've got some bruised knuckles and
err■pelvis for you to look at."

"You can go," said the EMH, waving his hands at Mr Paris as if driving away
a particularly annoying macrovirus.

B'Elanna gave a lustful look at Tom's departing ass, then turned to the Doc.
"No snide remarks," she warned, and began to strip off her uniform.

"I wouldn't dream of it," muttered the Doctor. He'd always treated
`Lieutenant Torrid' with a certain amount of caution. Once he'd made the
mistake of telling her that a Klingon-human hybrid was a medical
impossibility due to the incompatible biology of the two species. The Chief
Engineer had retorted that he shouldn't be able to hold solid objects
because his light-based hologram couldn't be constrained by magnetic
containment fields. The thought was so alarming to the EMH that his program
had shut down then and there. It had taken weeks of therapy on the holodeck,
with the captain reading La Vita Nuova to him, to restore his equilibrium.

"Computer, lock doors."

While B'Elanna worked her trousers down over what the Doctor had to admit
was an aesthetically appealing gluteus maximus, his internal processors
flagged him. As part of his diagnostic of Seven's cortical systems he'd
downloaded her database for further examination. Something interesting had
turned up.

Ever since a future version of Harry Kim had used a Borg temporal
transceiver to access Seven of Nine's cortical implant, the Doctor had
installed a `watchdog' program to warn him if it happened again. Seven had
told him that the Borg had traveled through time; perhaps a past or future
Borg ship might try to confuse her at a crucial moment by downloading false
data. The subroutine had picked up just such a temporal data transmission.
It didn't appear to contain any viruses or coded instructions however. He
decided to have a look.

"And the name of this activity?" Seven inquired. Only the slight trembling
of her lips betrayed the emotions he knew churned under that cold exterior.
"It's called■fondling." He kneaded her breasts firmly yet gently, using his
thumbs to stimulate the nipples. She was his creation, more so than the
captain's. The Doctor was the one who had removed her implants, grown her
hair, styled her dress and body. Captain Janeway had tried to make her
`human' but he had known all along this was doomed to fail. Seven of Nine
could only be shaped in humanity's image, just as he was. They were unique.
Perfect. They were made for each other.
As B'Elanna lay down on the biobed, the Doctor stood gaping into space, a
tricorder held motionless in his hand.

"Isn't there an easier way of doing this?" Janeway complained. "A hypospray
maybe?"

"Typical," the Doctor muttered, expertly working his fingers in and out of
the captain's cunt. "Always looking for the simple fix. Sometimes there's no
better solution than intensive full-body massage with hand relief. Your body
is crying out for release!"

"It certainly is now," moaned Janeway as she neared orgasm.

"I'm not surprised," griped the EMH as he slipped in a vibrating dildo.

"You've been an ABSURDLY long time without erotic stimulus, under CONSTANT
sexual tension with Commander Chakotay. Just how long do you intend to
ignore your physical needs?"

"I...can't...be...involved...with...my...first...officer!" she gasped. The
Doctor switched to direct clitoral stimulation. "Oh GODS!...so I'll have
to...oh YES!...stick to...you holo-GRAMS!" Her body twisted on the bench as
the climax racked her body.

Doc viewed his sweat-soaked and panting superior with smug satisfaction.
"There. I bet that's better than anything Mr Paris could do."

As his matrix desperately tried to absorb and quantify the temporal data,
the Doctor felt the subroutine he'd installed in order to have sex with
Denara Pel begin to increase in size exponentially. He hadn't felt this
aroused since he'd downloaded aspects of Lord Byron's personality into his
program. Once again he had the urge to caress Lieutenant Torres' dusky
flesh. `Yes, I definitely could do a better job than Mr Paris!' he thought.

"Do-raq mee-roch," growled the Doctor, licking his holographic chops.

Torres stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I am the son of Slash! And you, what website are you on?"

"Is this some kind of a joke?"

"You wear the uniform of a Risan lap dancer," he said, ogling her naked
body. "Come warrior, let me leer at you."

"All right that's it!" snapped B'Elanna, sitting up on the biobed. The
Doctor shoved her back down. "Computer, activate restraints."

Shiny metal clamps sprung up from the sides of the bed and clicked shut
around the lieutenant's hands and chest. "What the hell are you doing!" she
yelled, struggling with her bonds. "Tom put you up to this, didn't he? He
wanted me to join him in a ménage ů trois with Seven once. I had to break
three of his fingers."

The Doctor was too consumed by lust to take heed of her warning. "Computer,
cut off all transmissions to and from this room. If anyone asks, I'm
rehearsing for a particularly boring opera recital."

"Oh...shit!" said B'Elanna, realising she was in deep targ manure. This had
happened before, when the Doctor's tampering with his personality
subroutines had brought evil characteristics to the surface. "I'm fucked."

"Yes, you certainly will be," Evil Doc replied gleefully. "Computer, remove
my clothes!"

`Removal of clothes violates Starfleet sexual harassment protocols' the
computer intoned pompously.

"Override!"

As B'Elanna stared in amazement the Doctor's regulation Starfleet uniform
was transformed instantly into the firm muscled body of a Greek God, right
down to a large and fully erect■she gasped in shock.

"But...you're not supposed to have ..."

"Let's just say I made an addition to my program," Doc said, smirking.

"Computer, increase size of `Big Boy' by 89.97%". The Doctor's penis swelled
so much it looked as if he'd turned into one big prick (though as far as
B'Elanna was concerned there wasn't much difference).

"Who's the Chief Engineer now?" Doc chortled, eyeing his holographic member
with pride.

"Doctor if you don't stop this I'll reprogram you so you can only sing
Klingon drinking songs! Oh NOT AGAIN!" she cried as she felt her cunt
lubricating in response to her rage.

"Having some problems with those Klingon genes? I've got just the cure. In
fact I think I'll write a paper on it for Starfleet Medical. `The Use of the
Holo-Penis in Subduing Lust in Klingon-human Hybrids ─ A Case Study'."

With an athletic smoothness only someone of his own sublime ability could

appreciate, the Doctor swung up onto the biobed. Positioning his Ruler of
the Universe over her face, he waited until the pretty lieutenant opened her
mouth to yell more insults and plunged his holo-penis inside.

For a second B'Elanna thought someone had shoved an exploding warp core down
her throat■then she clamped her teeth together as hard as possible. Her
sharp dentures passed harmlessly through the holographic organ.

`Bugger!' thought B'Elanna.

"AAAAARRRGGH!!!" screamed the Doctor, whose tactile sensors were not so
unaffected. He whipped his penis out through the side of her cheek and
glared at her.

"Well if you want to play it that way! Computer!!" he said. "Generate a
subspace vibration field around Lieutenant Torres' body. Increase the field
by 258.3% around the patients' mammary glands and clitoris. Inject her with
200 cc's of Klingon hormones. Play the soundtrack to the Orion slave girl
holosuite program; the one Mr Paris bought from that Ferengi on Deep Space
Nine, on a subconscious wavelength. And download into my matrix the complete
personality subroutine of historical figure Captain James T. Kirk!"

A terrifying change came over the Doctor as the latter instruction was
carried out. A holographic toupee appeared over his bald spot, and he leered
hungrily at the bound lieutenant. "Nice! I bet you'd look good in a
miniskirt and knee-high boots!"

"HHHEEELLLLPPP!!!!!" screamed Torres in fear. "Computer, deactivate
Emergency Medical Hologram!"

"Belay that! Authorisation Chief Medical Officer Numero Uno!"

Furious, Torres tried to kick him in the balls with her unrestrained feet,
but once again the blow passed harmlessly through the Doctor's body (he
remembered to switch off his tactile sensors this time). Doc smirked. "I'm
only hard when it counts. And now," he rubbed his hands in anticipation.
"For the luuuurvvv-making!"

The Doctor decided to start with a non-invasive procedure. "Computer,
activate the Tongue of Tantalisation." His previously acerbic tongue began
to flicker at a rate of 5780 licks per second. Bending his now fully
carpeted head to Torres' vagina, he began to skillfully tease the outer
petals. B'Elanna moaned and pushed her pelvis up against the restraints.

"Interesting," said the Doc, noting the reaction for his paper. "But I think
a more thorough examination is required. Purely in the interests of medical
science of course."

"Fuck you!" groaned B'Elanna.

The Doctor smirked. "One step at a time."

His fingers slipped inside her. Having the combined knowledge of 47 Starfleet
doctors and 2000 medical reference sources was a definite advantage. It meant
he was the only man in history who knew the exact position of the G-spot.

Slowly as his fingers and tongue worked their magic B'Elanna's angry growls
and Klingon swear words were replaced by the passionate sounds of . . .
growls and Klingon swear words. Her legs wrapped tightly around the Doctor's
face in a grip that would have suffocated Mr Paris. For the first time ever
B'Elanna could screw someone without causing them major injury and she took
full advantage of the fact. Satisfied that the half-Klingon was nicely
warmed up, the Doctor activated his Photonic Cannon and got into Attack
Position Alpha.

`Sex with Klingon-human hybrids violates Starfleet safety protocols' intoned
the computer pompously.

"Override!" yelled the Doctor and B'Elanna together.

The Doctor's `Big Boy' expanded to completely fill her cunt. "How do you
like my banana B'Elanna?" he said as he pumped tirelessly. She responded
with incoherent moans that even his universal translator couldn't decipher.
Hearing her passionate response the Doctor's egotistical protocols swelled
even larger than his penile subroutine. His performance was magnificent. The
experience was ecstatic. Why it was so wonderful, he couldn't even remember
his own name!

`Wait a minute, I don't have a name.'

It was then that his penis disappeared.

The Doctor blinked in sheer surprise. One minute his Mighty Rod of
Tetraburnium Alloy had been pounding away between B'Elanna's legs, next
minute■nothing!

He pulled his hips back and looked down. Yes, it was still there. He thrust
forward■and his holo-penis flickered and vanished, then reappeared again.
Angrily he tried to reinsert his erratically behaving subroutine into
B'Elanna's lush vagina. His penis was buzzing and flickering like a mad bug
zapper. Every time he got it got lined up it faded out of existence.

"What the hell are you doing?" B'Elanna growled, eyes shut tight.

"I'm trying to align my Class One probe with your interspatial flexure!" he
snapped angrily.

"You call that a Class One? It feels more like a nanoprobe!"

He needed a bigger target. Desperately the EMH tried using his fingers to
part the folds of B'Elanna's cunt. "I'll try opening a rift into fluidic
space!"

"Raise your shields dammit! You're venting all over me!"

"I'm a Doctor, not a contraceptive!"

"Typical Starfleet! Your warp core goes off-line just as you're about to
dive into a wormhole!"

"My holo-penis is loosing structural integrity!"

"Try re-routing power to your weapon system!"

"I have! I can't get it to load into your torpedo tube!"

"Look, just imagine you're Tom flying his shuttle into Voyager's shuttle
bay!"

"My penis is disappearing at a faster rate than Voyager's shuttles!"

"What are you raving on about?" She opened her eyes to see the Doctor's
entire body begin to flicker and fade. "Whaa-whaa-whaa-t'ssss
haapp-haapp-enning-ng?" he cried in fear.

"Oh Kahless, your matrix can't handle the changes to your personality
subroutine. It's overloading!"

"Computer, unlock biobed restraints!" The Doctor leaped off the bed,
virtual-reality semen spraying all over sickbay. "You've got to repair me!"

B'Elanna grabbed the Doctor and with one hand threw him back on the biobed.
"Never mind that shit!" she growled. "You still owe me an orgasm. I'm not
fixing you until I've had it!"

The Doctor's eyes widened as the lustful half-Klingon straddled him.

"Computer, divert all power to Big Boy," he gasped. His holographic organ
solidified and B'Elanna eagerly took it inside her. Throwing her head back
she pumped desperately, growling with pleasure. Her body arched as it
reached its' peak of ecstasy . . . then the Doctor's matrix destabilised and
he vanished seconds before she was about to orgasm. Her pelvis hit the bed
hard.

Torres glared at the thin air where the Doctor once had been.

"Men. Typical."

* * *

Janeway and Tuvok were striding down a corridor as usual.

"To deny yourself the release of sexual pleasure is not logical," Tuvok was
saying. "If you wait until our return to the Alpha Quadrant, even with the
30,000 light years cut off our distance, even with the new-improved Viagra
5000, Commander Chakotay will be too old to■`get it up', I believe is the
phrase."

Janeway looked sideways at her security officer. "And what about you? How
many times will you go through the pon farr before we get home?"

Only his dark skin and over a hundred years of practising constant mind
discipline prevented Tuvok from blushing at the most embarrassing words in
the Vulcan vocabulary. "I intend to cope with it the same way Ensign Vorik
did, by `beating the crap' out of someone. Preferably Neelix."

"Chakotay to the Captain, please respond."

Janeway slapped her left breast, wincing in the process. Years of answering
hails had left her with a permanent combadge-shaped bruise on her left tit.

"Janeway here."

"I wondered if I could have a word with you. It's about the Doctor."

"I'm near your quarters now. I'll stop by."

"That's not nec-"

"Janeway out."

The captain dismissed Tuvok and walked down the corridor to her first
officer's quarters. She activated the door chime, but there was no answer.

Janeway frowned. The Commander had asked to see her. It was rude of him to
hold her up. And Captain Janeway didn't let radioactive Mutara-class nebulas
slow her, let alone doors. "Computer, open the doors to Commander Chakotay's
quarters. Command override Janeway Zeta-Nine."

The doors hissed open and she strode regally through them■just in time to
catch her first officer applying the finishing touches to his tattoo with a
magic marker pen.

The two officers gaped at each other in astonishment, then Janeway pointed
at Chakotay and yelled, "BUSTED!"

"It's the sonic showers," he explained, an apologetic look on his face.
"First they rinsed all the grey out of my hair, now my tattoo's started to
fade."

"What did you want to discuss?"

"I went to sickbay to talk to the Doctor," Chakotay said, replacing the cap
on his pen. "Even with the bio-neural gel packs we're running out of storage
space on Voyager's main processor. A lot of that space is taken up by the
Doctor's ego. I was hoping to convince him to reduce it by means of a
modesty subroutine."

Janeway snorted. "Fat chance. What did he say?"

"I didn't have the opportunity to ask. When I arrived, I found the EMH
deactivated and B'Elanna trying to erase part of his program. When I asked
her what the hell she thought she was doing, she dumped half a ton of
Klingon curses on me and stormed out."

"What was she doing?"

"I've no idea. I couldn't get the Doctor back on line to ask him. She's
locked down his program." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You know, she
was walking kind of funny. Bow-legged almost. Think the Doctor made a mess
of a gynecological examination or something? You know what her temper's
like."

Captain Janeway rubbed her head in exasperation. It was days like these she
felt as if aliens were drilling red-hot needles into her skull. "Well did
you go after her and ask?"

"I thought it best to wait until she'd cooled down a little. She's not in
the best of moods at the moment."

Kathryn gave a mental groan. She liked Chakotay. Those puppy dog brown eyes
gave her shivers all over. But he could be a real wiener at times. In fact
there were moments when Janeway wished she'd made Seska her first officer
instead.

"Fine, I'll talk to her. We can't afford to have the Doctor off-line.
Anything else I should know about?"

"Yes. It's Seven of Nine. She's been acting rather strange lately. She asked
me for details on your sex life. She wanted to know if we were `copulating'
and whether you could achieve `perfection' with a man."

"Great," Janeway said, rolling her eyes. "Now she's discovered boys. I was
hoping she'd be cured of that after the Lieutenant Chapman disaster."

"She's probably just `observing human mating behaviour' again."

"I don't think so," Janeway muttered darkly, thinking of the turbolift
incident.

"Her whole attitude has changed," Chakotay went on. "She seemed restless.
It's as if she was in a constant state of excitement. And for some reason
she called me `Chuckles'."

Janeway looked first bemused, then amused. "Chuckles? I like it, it
sounds■cute."

Chakotay smiled, his brown eyes dancing. Maybe Seven was right. He should be
more assertive regarding their relationship. He stepped closer to her.
Janeway's eyes widened but she didn't back off. Her blood-red mouth parted
slightly and a pink tongue caressed her lower lip. Auburn strands of hair
stirred with repressed passion. He didn't need a universal translator to
read these signals! The handsome first officer bent his head down for a
passionate kiss. Kathryn Janeway felt her heart thumping in her chest. She'd
been fantasizing about this for five years . . .

"Engineering to Captain Janeway."

"SHIT!" exclaimed the two Starfleet officers.

"Go ahead Lieutenant Carey," Janeway snapped.

"You'd better come down here. Lieutenant Torres has gone berserk!"

* * *

Captain Janeway strode into engineering and stopped dead in her tracks. Her
first officer and Carey hadn't exaggerated B'Elanna's mood. The Chief
Engineer was gripping Neelix by the head and using his distinctive hairstyle
as a scrubbing brush to clean out a plasma injector, yelling with each
vicious stroke: "I-TOLD-YOU-NO-MORE-FUCKING-LEOLA-ROOT-STEW!"

"B'Elanna!"

She jumped, the Talaxian's head dropping out of her hands and bouncing on
the hard deck. The engineering crew winced and cowered further under their
consoles.

Captain Janeway glared at her, hands on hips. "Lieutenant Torres. I realise
that last time you assaulted a member of this crew I made you Chief
Engineer, but don't think you're going to gain another promotion in that
fashion!"

"Yes Captain," Torres answered meekly, swinging a casual boot into Neelix's
side. There was a snap of a rib breaking and Neelix moaned.

"And KINDLY desist from killing him. I realise the Doctor is better at comic
relief, but Neelix is the only adult member of the crew shorter than me. I
need someone to look down on."

"The Doctor!" Torres fumed. "I don't find him fucking funny at all! Do you
know what he did? He strapped me to the biobed and shoved his additional
subroutine right up my--"

Torres fell silent when she realised the entire engineering staff was
listening in sudden interest.

"In here."

She ushered Janeway into a nearby alcove and in a whispered voice gave the
captain a highly edited version of what had happened in sickbay. "Once it
was all over I was able to run a diagnostic on his program. Apparently he
was running an analysis on some data he'd downloaded from Seven of Nine's
cortical implant."

Janeway unwittingly created a gay subtext moment as she stared into the
attractive engineers' eyes. "What kind of data?"

"It's a kind of fiction writing known as `slash'. A lot of it's pretty
pornographic, which explains how the Doctor was behaving. There's also
angst, comedy, romance, unrequited love, some early twenty-first century
homosexual activist doctrine■but Captain, this is the weird part. It's all
about us."

Janeway did a double take. "Us?"

"These stories, they're all about the crew of Voyager in various sexual
relationships. Here you■better read some for yourself." She held out a PADD.
Janeway frowned and took it. It was a story entitled, "Captain's Haven".

"Captain's personal log. After six years marooned in the Delta Quadrant I've
finally come to the realisation that I can no longer ignore my physical and
emotional needs. The long nights alone without the comfort of a warm body
next to mine. The lack of an intimate friend with whom I can share my soul -
it's all too much. I have therefore decided to resort to a course of action
that I would previously have regarded as inconceivable."

Captain Kathryn Janeway paced the holodeck, her auburn hair tossing lightly
around her neck. There was no reason to be nervous about this. She was a
scientist. Sex was a simple matter of biological processes, the body's
natural urge to reproduce in order to perpetuate the species. Once you
understood that, it lost its' control over you. As Tuvok had taught her, the
key to controlling an emotion was to break it down, understand how it
worked, deconstruct its' power.

`Like fuck!'

She sighed. There was no point in putting this off. "Computer, activate
Emergency Sexual Relief Hologram."

The walls shimmered and the holodeck was transformed into an inn in the
quiet country village of Fair Haven. A handsome man whose looks couldn't
help catching her interest tended the bar. Janeway's heart leapt at the
sheer sight of him. "Welcome weary traveler," he said. He had warm brown
eyes that promised to sweep away all her cares. "I'm Michael Sullivan."
"K-Katie O'Clare," Janeway stammered.

`Why am I doing this? God, the depths to which I've sunk.'

The handsome hologram moved out from behind the bar. His face was that of a
man you could trust your life secrets to. The movement of his body spoke of
hidden animal passions. His sleeves were rolled up to show his muscular
arms. All he needed was a tattoo. A quick command to his facial algorithms
fixed that.

"Well Katie," Sullivan said, his newly created tattoo wriggling
mischievously. "You have the look of someone who has traveled a long and
weary road without any company worth speaking of. Take the weight off yer
feet and the world off yer shoulders." He pulled out a chair for her to sit
down on. "A beautiful lass such as yerself should not have to care about
life's great hardships."

Captain Janeway grabbed the smug Irish git by the lapels and threw him
boldly onto the nearest table. "Listen to me you talking dildo! I'm the
captain of this ship and don't you forget that, ever! In my century men do
what women want and like it!" With a decisive movement she ripped his shirt
down the front, exposing his broad manly chest. "I haven't had a fuck in SIX
YEARS! It's your lucky day Michael!" Janeway eagerly tore open the
holograms' fly as the other patrons gaped in astonishment. Trouser buttons
zipped through the air and landed in their drinks. A flying belt buckle hit
the waitress in the forehead and knocked her unconscious. Janeway reached
into the protesting bartenders' pants and yanked out his holo-penis.

"I don't have time for foreplay. Computer, make Michael Sullivan's penile
subroutine fully erect. TWELVE AND A HALF INCHES!"

Instantly twelve and a half inches of hot throbbing manhood burst into her
hands, making her swoon with pleasure. Janeway lovingly caressed the
pulsating member. This was going to be so good! The lustful captain released
the object of her desires and in three point zero four seconds had torn off
every stitch of her clothing. Seizing Michael's cock by the base, she began
to mount him.

"That's a hell of a grip you've got there Katie!" Michael gasped,
desperately wondering how he could escape this fearsome sex fiend.

"You can call me `Captain', `ma'am' in an extreme emergency or if you've got
Tom Paris' eyes, `Queen Arachnia', or preferably . . . " She lowered her
long-deprived cunt onto his organ, screaming in sheer ecstasy. "`Supreme OH
GODDESS! of the Delta Quadrant!'"

Captain Janeway's face turned as red as her hair. "Who's writing this stuff?
I'll have them thrown out an airlock! I'll make them eat Neelix's cooking!
I'll have them cleaning out Malon freighters until their lower regions are
glowing in the dark!"

"Captain, it's not a crewmember! This stuff came from a Borg temporal
transmission from the early twenty-first century. There's gigaquads of this
stuff in there. Stories about me and Tom having sex, you and Chakotay, Tom
and Harry, Seven and the Doctor, you and Seven. I mean, talk about Infinite
Diversity in Infinite Combinations! There's stories about you banging
someone called `Xena - Warrior Princess', whoever that is. Even ones about
you fucking■well■me."

Janeway suddenly realised she was in an enclosed space with a sexually
aggressive half-Klingon who in her agitation was breathing rather heavily.
She hastened to change the subject.

"Why would a bunch of people living three hundred years ago care about
whether people on a starship in the future are having sex?"

"Apparently it had something to do with an organisation called Paramount,
and their failure to live up to `Roddenbery's vision of the future, by
showing a sensitive portrayal of mixed and same sex relationships'■I can't
quite understand it myself."

"And where would these `slash fiction' writers get Borg temporal
technology?"

B'Elanna thought so hard that bold ridges stood out on her forehead.

"Seven once told me that a Borg ship was destroyed during First Contact with
the Vulcans. That was in the twenty-first century wasn't it?"

"Never mind that," Janeway muttered. "I try to avoid temporal paradoxes,
they make my head spin." That was what she told everyone, but the real
reason was a lot more unusual. Whenever the captain worked too hard and
drank too much coffee she had this weird dream in which Voyager was being
chased by a Kremin time ship and getting the living shit kicked out of it in
the process. Good thing that had never happened for real. It'd be enough to
make her want to fly Voyager into something big just to end it all.

"Bridge to Captain Janeway."

"Go ahead Chakotay."

"Seven of Nine just took off in the new self-replicating shuttle. She won't
respond to hails. Did you authorise her to leave the ship?"

"No I didn't. Lieutenant Torres informs me that Seven could be behaving
erratically due to some extraneous data she downloaded. Lock on a tractor
beam."

"We've already done that, but we can't transport her out of there. She's
managed to alter her bio-signature. Something to do with increased hormonal
levels. I'll beam over and convince her to return."

"No!" Janeway said, a bit too quickly. She didn't trust her first officer in
close contact with a hormonally-charged Seven. She'd heard rumors about the
beautiful Borg kissing Chakotay on the holodeck. Not that she was jealous or
anything, but . . . "I'll handle this one myself."

* * *

The second the captain beamed on board, Seven activated a forcefield around
the shuttle to prevent either of them from being transported off.

Captain Janeway realised what Seven had done but it didn't shake her
confidence. She never felt better than she did at these moments, when only
her skills and ability could defuse some crisis. It was what Janeway had
joined Starfleet for. Since arriving in the Delta Quadrant the
coffee-powered captain had outwitted the Borg and the Hirogen, brought
Voyager 30,000 light years against all odds, tamed the reluctant Seven into
her crew. There was nothing she couldn't achieve.

Seven of Nine had moved to the shuttles' replicator and was punching in
commands. To Janeway her beloved protégé looked awful. Hot, sweaty and
ruffled like she'd just lost a game of Velocity, the Borg's eyes were wide
and her nipples strained against the tight covering of her biosuit. Stray
hairs framed her face from her usually immaculate bun.

`All right, I'm a trained diplomat, an experienced commanding officer, her
friend - I can handle this.'

"Seven," she began gently. "We've discovered that someone has downloaded a
package of extraneous data into your cortical implant. It's making you act
irrationally."

"You are in error," replied the former drone. She was breathing heavily.
Janeway felt her heart pang at the young woman's obvious distress.

"No Seven, I'm not. Let's return to Voyager. B'Elanna can purge your systems
of this data, we can exchange some home truths on the nature of humanity,
and everything will return to normal the way it does every week."

An object materialised in the replicator. Janeway couldn't make out what it
was. Some kind of weapon? Seven turned her head and looked directly at the
captain. The Borg's pupils dilated as her eyes swept up and down Janeway's
body.

"I am functioning perfectly Captain. It is you who is acting in an
irrational manner."

Janeway was startled. "Me? How?"

"On numerous occasions I have seen you work late, avoid routine medical
attention and consume excessive amounts of caffeine stimulants. You avoid
the physical and psychological relief that comes from an intimate
relationship. This results in erratic, compulsive behaviour. You denounced
Captain Ransom for his breaches of the Prime Directive, yet you yourself
have violated it on many occasions. Lieutenant Paris was demoted for
stealing a shuttle and disobeying your orders, yet Commander Chakotay was
not. You were willing to destroy Voyager rather than let her technology fall
into the hands of the Kazon, but in recent years you have shared our
technology with the Hirogen, the Moneans and several other species. And you
have failed to maintain a consistent hairstyle in the past five years."

In just 0.32 seconds Janeway's personality switched from Mama Kathryn to
Pissed-Off Factor Ten. "I'm the Captain! I don't have to justify my actions
to anyone. And I can wear whatever hairstyle I want! Now turn this shuttle
around ─ that's an order!"

"Orders are irrelevant. I have lured you on board this shuttle for my own
purposes."

Seven reached into the replicator and took out what she had created - a
black shiny sausage-shaped device. Janeway stared at it in horror. It was a
15-inch, Borg-technology enhanced, self-lubricating, double-ended dildo with
multi-spatial vibration capacity. She backed off terrified as Seven advanced
toward her with the menacing sex object.

"It's that Borg multiple personality thing isn't it? You think you're the
son of K'vok or something!" Janeway's back hit the exit door of the shuttle.
There was nowhere left to retreat.

"I intend to free you from yourself," Seven of Nine purred, her eyes
gleaming with sexual hunger. "The new data I have downloaded informs me that
you suffer from a deep unrequited lust for my body, but are restrained from
acting on it by your duty to Voyager. By luring you away from your ship and
the gaze of your crew we can explore the deep intimacy and loving
relationship that only two women can feel for each other."

For the first time in her entire life Kathryn Janeway began to panic.
Throughout her Starfleet history she'd believed she could deal with any
situation: Cardassian torture, Borg cubes, running out of coffee. But
Janeway had never been confronted by a horny female crewmember intent on
ravishing her with a multi-spatial dildo before.

"You've got the wrong idea about us Seven," Janeway said desperately.

"You've been reading a gay subtext into my attentions which have always been
purely maternal. I prefer guys, really I do, it's just that whenever I try
to have sex with one I get thrown 70,000 light years into the Delta Quadrant
or the combadge beeps or Tuvok gets a cure or we're turned into salamanders
and that Kashyk was just a double-crossing bastard . . . " She tried dodging
past Seven to get to the controls but the Borg seized her eagerly. Her
cybernetic body easily restrained the struggling captain. One of Janeway's
pips broke off and rolled along the floor. "I'll help you put that on
later," Seven cooed.

"Seven, listen to me! This is all a conspiracy by a group of twenty-first
century lesbian activists who want to witness some lurid gay sex between us.
Not to mention millions of drooling men who have the same low hopes. You
wouldn't want to pander to the puerile fantasies of the 18-35 year-old male
demographic would you?"

"According to the data I have received I was put on Voyager for exactly that
purpose."

"That's not true. We abducted■I mean rescued you from the Borg!"

"Stardate 51030. Kes, a far less voluptuous crewmember whose only sexual
relationship is an inexplicable attraction to a talking warthog, leaves the
ship at the same time as I, a large breasted blonde, come aboard. The Doctor
removes several highly efficient Borg implants and replaces them with a
completely impractical catsuit and boots with four-inch heels."

"Look, what these slash writers believe is wrong! We're in the twenty-fourth
century, where our relationships are those of mutual respect and
understanding for the mind and soul of our partner, not lustful exchanges in
which we rip off each others' clothes in turbolifts!"

Seven of Nine arched her back and took a very deep breath. There was a
tearing sound and her skintight uniform split from neck to crotch. A pair of
enormous breasts popped out of the tear and bounced in front of Janeway's
astonished eyes. Seven shrugged her shoulders, letting the damaged biosuit
slide to the floor.

"I am Luscious of Borg," she said huskily. "Your vagina will be
double-adapted to service my own. Resistance is exciting."

`I always wondered how you got out of that thing' was all Janeway could
think.

The captain's back was literally to the wall. There was only one weapon left
in her arsenal now - her trump card.

The Big Gooey Look.

She'd spent hours practising The Look in the mirror at Starfleet Academy. It
had melted hearts across the Alpha and Delta Quadrants. It had turned
Chakotay from a rebellious Maquis traitor into an obedient lapdog. It had
stopped Inspector Kashyk from shooting his photon torpedoes into her
wormhole. It had changed Q from an omnipotent all-powerful pain in the ass
into a love-stricken omnipotent all-powerful pain in the ass.

Janeway's face did its' best to imitate a wounded puppy. Her eyes radiated
warmth and affection. Her lips formed into an appealing smile.

And it worked! She could see the deep blue eyes of her Astrometrics officer
shine with love for her captain. The grip on her arm was relaxed, and the
hand holding the threatening vibrator lowered to the floor.

Captain Janeway sighed with relief. She'd done it again.

Until she realised that the dildo in Seven's hand was now level with her
groin.

With an exultant cry Seven lunged forward, the multi-spatial probe dephasing
from normal space in order to pass through Janeway's trousers and deep into
her vagina. The captain's eyes shot wide open as fifteen inches of throbbing
Borg technology boldly thrust where no man had gone before in the past five
years. Borg nanoprobes detached from the invader and began to seek out and
stimulate the countless nerve endings that clustered inside her cunt.
Subspace vibrations worked their way up Kathryn's long-neglected body,
making her nipples instantly erect. Her vagina soaked helplessly, drenching
her thighs with her love juices.

`No, this won't do!' She began reciting a constant mantra. "I prefer guys. I
prefer guys. Big, handsome tattooed guys. With puppy dog eyes."

Her resistance was futile. Flushed with success and lust, Seven worked the
probe inside her captain with gentle loving strokes, seeking out her centres
of pleasure with all her usual efficiency. Her newly assimilated knowledge
had contained explicit instructions in the use of such devices.

Janeway's legs gave out and she slid helplessly down the shuttle's rear
hatch. Seven followed her down, her hand never ceasing its' movements.
Janeway had the strangest feeling that she shouldn't be allowing this, that
in a previous life or a parallel dimension she was a starship captain or
something. It seemed rather unimportant now. She moaned and pushed her
pelvis up toward Seven's thrusting hand, which was beginning to slip with
the juices covering it. The former drone slid her body on top of her,
willingly impaling her virgin cunt on the part of the dildo jutting from
between Janeway's legs. Seven moaned helplessly as First Contact was
initiated. Throughout her entire adult life Seven had engaged in the
relentless search for perfection. She had helped assimilate countless
worlds, observed the formation of the Omega molecule, allowed the Doctor to
dress her in a skintight catsuit according to his sexist fantasy of the
ideal woman, but for the first time ever Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct of
Unimatrix Zero One, achieved Perfection for herself. The two passionate,
headstrong women locked their legs around each other and proceeded to answer
the dreams of J/7 writers from a time long ago.

However, confused as she was by the overload of data in her cortical implant
mixed with the incredible new sensations she was experiencing, Seven was
ignorant of a potential danger. Captain Janeway was a woman who never did
anything by halves, and the thunderous release of energy created by five
years of pent-up sexual frustration was destablising the shuttle at the
submolecular level.

Fortunately, Ensign Kim was on his toes. The illuminated panels of his
console flashed and beeped incomprehensible signals, but for someone who
could decipher Borg algorithms, understanding technobabble was easy. He
recognised the signs at once. The exact same thing had happened when Kes
left Voyager. "The internal structure of the shuttle is breaking down!"
yelled Kim, his hands flying over his console.

"B'ELANNA GET A LOCK ON THEM NOW!" Chakotay shouted, his features wooden
with worry.

Lieutenant Torres wasn't moving in her usual efficient manner, due to a numb
throbbing in her pelvic region, but she was still the best damn engineer in
the Delta Quadrant. As the forcefield shorted out mere seconds before the
shuttle disintegrated, she was able to get a transporter lock on the captain
and Seven and beam them directly to the bridge.

Inside Voyager's landing bay, a new shuttle began to self-replicate.

Chakotay's exultation as Janeway and Seven materialised turned to shock as
he (and the entire bridge crew) realised that his beloved Kathryn was
enthusiastically screwing a stark-naked Seven of Nine, their cries of
unrestrained pleasure resonating throughout the bridge. Chakotay's jaw
dropped so low it hit the communications panel, inadvertently relaying the
sounds of his captain's wild passion throughout the entire ship as well.

For Tuvok, over a hundred years of Vulcan stability was instantly swept away
at the sight of his long-time human friend engaged in this lewd and
completely illogical behaviour in public. His head began to boil like a cup
of coffee in Kes' training sessions.

Harry Kim was so traumatised by the sight of the Lust of His Life engaged in
hot passionate sex with his Mother Figure it took the Doctor months of
therapy to sort him out.

Tom Paris, sitting at the conn station just inches away from the sweating
pair, gaped in amazement. Then slowly, a lewd grin began to form on his
face. Sighing with pleasure, he leaned back, folded his arms, and enjoyed
the view.

* * *

The Doctor fiddled with his already perfect tuxedo as the crew filed into
the holodeck. In an effort to get everybody's mind off the■unusual events of
the past few days, he'd offered to give an opera recital. A much more
dignified event than one of Neelix's parties, in his opinion. Still, he'd
noticed that everyone seemed to be coping quite well anyway (except Mr Kim
of course, but his therapy was proceeding nicely). In fact, Voyager's crew
had a remarkable ability to not let their weekly crises affect them in the
long term. Captain Janeway hadn't even let that rather embarrassing bridge
incident change her relationship with Seven of Nine. They were spending much
more time together. In fact the captain seemed a good deal less stressed out
than before, though for some reason she still complained of lack of sleep.

The Doctor of course had made his sincerest apologies to Lieutenant Torres
for his unforgivable behaviour in sickbay. To his surprise the
short-tempered half-Klingon had dismissed it as `one of those things'.
Perhaps, he thought smugly, she'd rather enjoyed the experience. He couldn't
help notice that Torres had seated herself in the front row, watching him
with an expectant smile on her face. Helm Boy might find himself being
dumped pretty soon.

Mr Paris rapped a glass and spoon together, and the crew fell silent.

Making an unnecessary adjustment to his bow tie the Doctor announced,
"Computer, play music for Verdi's Dio, Che Nell'alma Infondere Amor."

As the background music swelled out a feeling of immense pride filled the
Doctor. His opera represented the zenith of his development as a sentient
program. At moments like this the entire crew, even the Captain herself, was
in awe of his musical brilliance. He was the helmsman of their souls. The
Doctor thrust out a hand to his audience and as the crescendo built to a
peak he roared out the exuberant tones of the bawdy Klingon drinking song,
"My Bat'leth is Bigger Than Yours."

>From Janeway on down, everyone's jaws dropped.

The one exception was the smirking lieutenant in the front row. As the
Doctor slowly turned his horrified gaze upon her, B'Elanna Torres gave a
smile of sheer malicious pleasure that even Seska would have envied.

"Who's the Chief Engineer now, Big Boy?"

THE END

    

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